The Legend of Black Bonnie
by BluetoothThePirate
Summary: Bonnie Rockwaller's going from golddigger to goldburier, in this tale of piracy, mystery, booty and bananas! Weird stuff in progress herein, with minor adult sitches. Wonder of wonders, chapter 4!
1. StARRlight Cruise

**01—StARRlight Cruise**

Ok, here's part one of the follow-up to "Breaking Out is So Not Easy". It's all mush in the beginning, but it picks up into action before long. Let's hope I can average better than a chapter a month this time, it feels like a long one. Mild adult situations herein, so mind the kiddies. (I plan to keep to the 'T' rating, but who knows.) Buckle your swashes, everyone, here it goes.

Kim Possible, characters and other elements are property of the Disney Company. Any dispute will be settled for the entirety of the profits from this venture, which total zero. Thank you.

* * *

_Miss Taylor's heart was beating against her ribcage, like an imprisoned bird yearning to fly free. She was cornered in the cabin of the dread pirate Captain Steele, the most ruthless of seafaring villains ever to ply the Spanish Main. His handsome and rugged visage had but one remaining eye, a steely, azure blue. Whatsoever that eye fixed on, the dread pirate would take; Miss Taylor was in his sights now._

_The captain drew closer to the innocent schoolteacher, who trembled from equal parts fear and anticipation. She meekly cried out, "Please, sir, I beg you; be gentle."_

_The captain replied, in a hoarse tenor, "Never."_

_He roughly tore her dress from her shoulder, causing it to slip and expose the corset beneath. He gripped her tightly; he could feel her rushing heart beneath her soft, yielding…

* * *

_

"Ball!"

Bonnie Rockwaller looked up from her book, just in time to see the incoming volleyball. It impacted her face with a loud ping, ricocheting off to the other side of the deck. A small child ran after it, saying, "Geez, lady, nice catch!"

Bonnie cried out after him, her voice tense with excessive rage, "You skinny little monster! Come back here…" But he was gone.

The ship was a luxury liner, the "Caribbean Dream", and Bonnie was on a little summer vacation. She'd scrimped and saved for months to afford this cruise; however, despite the surroundings, the crisp, clean sea air, and the abundant activities, she couldn't enjoy herself at all. Every fantasy she had ever had about the joys of the sea, mostly fostered by her collection of nautical-themed romance novels, had fallen flat on this floating family tourist trap.

Feeling defeated, Bonnie collected her copy of _Seized by the Sea_s, and headed below decks to her tiny inside stateroom to sulk. As passed through the hatch, she was brushed aside by a group of crewmen moving fast in the opposite direction. She yelled after them, "Watch it, morons! I'm a paying customer!" as she went below in a huff.

The crewmen's urgency was spurred on by the activity at the other end of the ship. Apparently, the captain had received a distress call, and made a minor detour on their course to collect some castaways.

As they reached the aft deck, the lifeboat was raised over the rail. Two very wet young people, and a hairless rodent, rode up with a couple of their crewmates.

Ron tried to dry himself off dog-style. "I swear, Kim, they looked like friendly robots to me!"

"Important safety tip, Ron. When a robot has saw blades for hands, assume it's unfriendly!" Kim's exasperation was compounded by her exhaustion. They'd gone to Dr. Drakken's Caribbean lair, to see if he'd yet again returned to it after his escape from prison. No such luck, the island was home to nothing but booby traps and seagulls.

"Well forgive me for not being a robot bigot, Kim! Uh, robogot? Robigot?" His train of thought crashed into the station. Many were killed.

The ship's captain, Frederique "Champy" Duchamp, arrived on the scene. He was a large Haitian man, overflowing with vitality and good humor. He slapped Kim on the back, and extended to her a hearty hand. "Miss Possible! How excellent to see you are well! Were you in the hospitality of the sea for very long?"

Kim winced from the sudden sting on her back. "Oh, no big, Captain Duchamp. We'd only been out there an hour or so, the water was fine."

"How did you come to be so far out without a boat?" The captain inquired.

"Oh, well we parachuted in to the island, and we'd planned to use my emergency life-raft backpack to escape, but Ron here…" She indicated her long time friend and recent boyfriend, "had to go and impale it on a spike trap!"

"Hey, if it hadn't been the backpack, it would have been my lung!" Ron replied, incredulously.

"Anyway, I'm just glad you came to pick us up." She hopped out onto the deck of the ship. Ron followed.

"It was the least I could do, after the unpleasantness you prevented on my brother's fishing trawler." He let out a boisterous laugh, "Honestly, who would try to trap boats with animate seaweed?"

"Apparently, Professor Dementor." Kim wrung some of the salt water out of her hair. "Ugh. I hate this grody salt-lick feeling. I'll call Wade and set up a helicopter to pick us up from here."

The captain laughed again. "My dear Miss Possible, I won't hear of it. We put into port at Tampa in the morning, and you can secure passage from there; but, for tonight you and your friend are my guests!"

Kim put her hands up in a dismissive gesture. "Oh no, sir! We could never…"

Ron butted in. "Might there be any sort of midnight buffet involved?"

"All you care to eat! And tonight is our Starlight Ball on the Lido deck; you will, of course, join us!" The captain slapped Ron on the back, twice as hard as before.

Kim tried to come up with a good excuse; she really wasn't comfortable with accepting such an offer. "Oh, we can't go to a formal event, all we have are the clothes on our…"

"Leave that to me, dear girl, we are always prepared—stewards!" The captain clapped twice. A gang of stewards surrounded Kim and Ron, and in a very unceremonious fashion, took their measurements. "Bring appropriate formal wear and sundry underpinnings for both these fine young people, on the double! Deliver it to—Mister Mate, what do we have that's not booked?"

The Executive Officer leaned in and whispered to the captain.

"Ah, excellent! Suite one! Double time, men! Miss Possible, you and your—what are you again, lad?"

Ron puffed up his chest. "I'm Ron Stoppable, and depending on the time of day I'm Kim's best friend, confidant, plucky sidekick, and/or cuddly cutie-bear!"

"Ron, ix-nay on the utiebear-cay!" Kim blushed, and softly punched his arm.

"Ouch, domestic incident!" Ron reeled back in no small amount of pain.

"Excellent! Then you two shall be taken to your suite, where you will bathe and rest up for tonight. All your needs will be taken care of, with my compliments. We are at your disposal!" The captain clapped again, and another group of stewards escorted Kim and Ron away, over some mild protests.

* * *

The steward opened the door at the end of the corridor, and gestured for Kim and Ron to enter. 

The room was enormous, a wide open suite with a vaulted ceiling; one would almost wonder how it fit on the ship. The furniture and carpet were all extra plush, with a predominant red color scheme.

Ron let out a low whistle. "Dig the digs, KP!"

Rufus leapt from Ron's pocket, and made a bee-line for the full bar. He dove into the mini-fridge for some eighty-five-dollar cheese.

"Ron, we shouldn't take advantage of the captain's good nature, it's ferociously unethical for us to accept—is that a hot tub?" Kim's eye caught the bubbling spa, steaming away on a raised platform by the bay window.

Ron was on the wavelength. "Oooh, swank-tastic!"

"Oh, I guess it can't hurt just this once." Kim put on a sly little smirk.

Ron shook his head. "It's a total mootage anyway, we don't have any swimsuits to wear—whoa!" He quickly turned his head and covered his eyes, as Kim took off her shirt and tossed it aside.

"Ron, this is no big," Kim stripped to her underwear, and stepped down into the tub. "It's no more skin than a bathing suit. Come on in, it's not like I haven't seen your boxer shorts before."

Ron was doing battle with a frog for possession of his throat, and losing. He squeaked, "Kim, I'm not sure if we should…"

"Ron, lose the pants and get in the tub, now!"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" He stripped down, slid in, and hid under the foam of the tub in the span of a few seconds. He was a bit rattled, situations this intimate were still an adjustment for him; but after a few minutes had passed he managed to relax. "Okay, now this is nice. Hey, gar-con; a couple of cool beverages for my lady friend and myself, if you please."

Rufus filled a couple of glasses with ice, and gave them each a shot of cola from the bar's soda gun. He hiked over to the spa with a tray that, to him, was the size of a small car.

"You been working out, buddy? Nice!" Ron took his glass, and passed Kim's over to her. "Hey, Rufus, try and find the bubble jet controls." He turned his attention to Kim. "This is nice."

"Ron, you've said that already." Kim cracked one eye to glare at him.

"But it bears repeating, does it not?"

"Oh, it does indeed." Kim took a long sip on her drink. "Y'know, I really do like helping people; but, once in a while, I like to get back. I admit it! Am I a horrible person?"

Ron laid it on with a reassuring tone, "Kim, people less charitable than you have been the subject of _worship._ Let's compile a list: One, foils evil villains bent on global chaos and destruction. Two, helps anyone who asks, no matter how trivial it is. Three, sticks by me regardless of damage to social status or position. You make the peace corps look like lazy slackers!"

Rufus had trouble deciphering the buttons that controlled the tub; he started to press them randomly.

"Ron, so not! And knock it off with the hyperbole; flattery will get you—over to my side of the tub!" Kim took hold of the boy's arm, and dragged him across the gap before he could protest.

They roughhoused playfully at first; chasing each other around the six-foot circle of the tub. Kim caught hold of Ron again; she forced him down onto one of the benches, and plopped down in his lap, straddling him face-to-face.

Rufus tapped one of the keys, finally getting a response. All the lights in the room went dim. Low, bluesy funk music piped from the sound system. Mister Barry White's voice spoke to them from beyond the grave, sending out a musical message of timeless mind control. His command: get it on!

Ron and Kim were locked in a mutual hormone stare-down. It was decision time; the next minute could change their lives.

"Kim, I, uh, think that we're in the…" Ron squeaked.

"…Honeymoon Suite. Yeah, I figured that out." Kim started to either pant in anticipation or hyperventilate; accounts vary. "Do you want to…"

"Yes, more than anything, but I don't know if we should mmph bmphl rrrph!" He was interrupted by Kim's tongue blocking his airway. He slid his hands up her back, and settled on her bra strap.

Ron's mind raced as he fumbled with the clasp. _Stupid thing! What is this, a combination lock? Ten left, fourteen right, twenty-three-b left—no. Okay, don't lose focus. It's so hard to concentrate with a tongue in my mouth. Is she using new toothpaste? One hook off, two to go! She's not fighting it, is she? No, good. Is Rufus staring at us? I hope Kim can't feel what's going on below decks. Or do I? Two hooks! This might be it! Hey, I wonder who's knocking at the door—uh oh._

Kim slid back off Ron's lap, and leapt from the tub. She hurriedly clicked off the music, and slipped into a terrycloth bathrobe hanging by the bathroom door. "One second!" She ran to the suite entrance.

On the far side of the door, a steward held out a pair of garment bags. "Compliments of the captain, Miss Possible!"

Kim took the bags. "Thanks, well, back to what I was doing. Not that I was doing anything, certainly not with Ron, and the tub, and the music, and—bye!" She slammed the door, fell back against it, and sighed.

Ron waited a minute. Then he tentatively asked, "Are we going to, uh, pick it back up?"

"Ron, it's not that I don't want to; I do. I just think we shouldn't, you know what I mean?"

"It's all good, KP, all good." He submerged his disappointment with humor. "Well, I'm-a go hit the shower!"

"Ron?" She called after him.

"What, KP?"

"Save me some cold water," she laughed.

"Kim, we're floating in an _ocean_ of cold water. I'll try." Ron disappeared into the bathroom with a smile on.

* * *

The rear deck of the ship had been converted into an outdoor ballroom. The pool had been covered with its retractable dance floor, and lighted decorations strung from the upper railings. The scene was set for romance; it was a clear night, with a full moon, and the Caribbean Sea shone like a jewel. Couples had already started to make their way from the dining room to dance in the moonlight to the live jazz combo. 

Bonnie was alone. It had been some time since she had felt so alone. She had hoped for companionship, but thus far none of the men on the ship met her stringent criteria; unwed, attractive, and under twenty-seven. She had made an error in planning; the only cruises that would accept someone her age were family events. She'd blown all the money she'd saved for this trip, and would go home as lonely and unfulfilled as she had left.

In some attempt to salvage enjoyment from the disaster, she fell back on cruelty and spite. She donned the most provocative evening dress in her prodigious portable wardrobe: a low-cut, strapless blue number, with an open back, slits on both sides, stockings, garters, and a thong; all held up by spirit gum and willpower. Any men who took the bait would be met with punishment and reprisal from their wives; any women would be confronted with a nice view of a body they once had, or could never have. Either way, Bonnie would revel in the attention, and the _schadenfreude._

She sauntered out into the growing crowd, hips swaying, feigning disinterest while casually scanning for slaps and arguments; sure enough, a few husbands fell into the trap. She was sure she heard a "what are you staring at," a few "how dare you!" and at least one "you're old enough to be her grandfather!" It wasn't seaborne romance, but inspiring frustration from the Nascar dads and jealousy from the soccer moms was revenge ever-so-sweet for the tortures of a hundred screaming brats.

One set of eyes stayed on her, however; eyes that belonged to an unattached man, a young man, one seemingly as out of place as Bonnie herself. It took her some time to notice; he was sticking close to the buffet, casually snacking on canapés and caviar. His tuxedo was the peak of fashion, decked out with gold jewelry and silk fineries. He was broad-shouldered and tall, with a dark tan and great hair. She simply had to meet him; it was a matter of how to approach. It would take all her skills as a seducer and manipulator, to appear aloof and haughty without losing him. She went mission-mode.

Bonnie slipped through the crowd, causing the young man to lose his line-of-sight. She was certain she felt more than a few covert pinches and brushings, but it was time for bigger fish. She slid from the crowd behind her target, and slunk up for a sneak ambush. Her ammunition: a chocolate-covered ladyfinger from the dessert tray, dunked in whipped cream. She watched for her moment. As the young man turned towards her, she immediately ignored him, and slid the dessert into the back of her throat. Concentrating hard on gag-suppression and ignorance-feigning, she sucked the coating off the slender pastry, and slid it back out, slowly running it around her lips. Only then did she turn back to the young man, who was visibly interested. His poker face was excellent, no dropping jaw or other tells, but the sweat on his brow and the movement of his Adam's-apple told Bonnie all she needed. Target locked!

The young man played it cool. He made a step towards the young lady, and offered her a paper napkin. "What did that pastry do to deserve such treatment?" he said, in a smooth, Spanish-accented tenor.

"Like I'd give you the answer ahead of time." She bit the tip off the ladyfinger, as her quarry gave a slight jump.

He asked, "Join me on the dance floor?"

"I'm not sure, what will you do in return…"

"Oh, well. It was worth a shot." The young man turned to leave.

"No! I'll dance!" Bonnie forgot herself.

"Excellent. Let us away, then." The young man smiled. _Target neutralized! Never play a player, sweetheart.

* * *

_

Kim chatted with Wade on the Kimmunicator, on the walk up from the suite. She and Ron were washed up and dressed in the moderately-generic formal wear provided by the captain; Kim in a little black dress and pumps, Ron in a no-tie tux and vest combo.

Kim spoke to her young friend. "We searched the island; nothing but automated defenses. Drakken and Shego must be holed-up somewhere else."

"Why are we even looking for them? They haven't done anything yet, and GJ are already searching everywhere," Wade asked.

"We _always_ wait for them to make a move." Kim's face showed visible tweaked-ness. "This time, the schedule's on my terms."

"And it had nothing to do with the dry spell of rescue missions, or the fact that you had nothing planned for the first few weeks of summer break?" Wade could see right through her.

Ron butted in, with, "He's gotcha, Kim; dead to rights, again."

"Okay, fine, I was bored. But, Drakken is dangerous, and I'd rather not have to wait for someone to get hurt to look for him!"

Wade said, "Point taken. I'll keep the searches for anomalous occurrences running. Oh, and I told your parents that the mission is taking some time, and you're getting a ride back in the morning."

"Wade! Don't lie to my parents!" Kim was wracked with worry; lying was a serious offense in the Possible household.

Ron consoled her. "That's not really a lie, KP; plus, if your father found out the circumstances of our stranding, I might be taking a long ride off a short launching pad!"

"I guess you're right. Best he not know...stuff. Let's go dance."

"Enjoy yourselves; I need some shut-eye. Call me if it's important." Wade's face disappeared from the screen.

Kim moved to stow the Kimmunicator. "Oh, shoot! I'm not carrying a bag." She handed the device to Ron. "Can you put this in your pocket?"

"Sure, KP." He made a move to place it in his right jacket pocket, but Rufus popped out to stop him. "Oops, sorry buddy. No room here." He put it in the inside pocket, instead. "KP, I wanna hit the buffet first."

"Alright. But don't stuff yourselves, I do expect some dancing from you, so don't be complaining about being 'crummy in the tummy'."

Ron replied, "Perish the thought, KP," and the group started to gather edibles.

Kim casually grazed at the canapés, as a tango started to play. Across the crowd, she caught sight of a familiar hairdo and spiteful smile, though this time it seemed genuinely contented. She tapped Ron on the shoulder, saying, "Ron, I think that's Bonnie!"

"You mean bon-diggity, right!" he was concentrated on the food, stuffing his face with cheese spread and cream-puffs. "These are awesome!"

"No, Bonnie! Over on the dance floor!" Kim manually adjusted his head in the right direction.

"Oh, yeah! What a coincidence, huh, us washing up on the same cruise as her?"

"It's a curse, I assure you. Who's that she's dancing with?" She strained to see past the moving crowd, but as soon as the young man faced them, recognition was instant.

"Señor Senior, junior!" they said in mutual shock.

Ron tried to keep them in view, but they were on the far side of a big dance floor. "What's Junior doing here, KP? You think something's going down?"

"Not unless he bought her something expensive," Kim said, sarcastically, as she crossed her arms in disapproval.

"I kinda meant more on the evil front, Kim." Ron replied. "Also, eww!"

Kim blushed. "Oh, right. Either way, we need to do some recon, and get Bonnie away from him before he knows we're here. We need a plan." She pondered over an entry strategy.

Ron piped in, "Hey, KP, I think I know what to do!"

"What? Oh, right! Plan Tango Romeo!"

"And you said we'd never use that one." Ron made a face that said 'I told you so'.

"I admit it's the right sitch for it. Okay, let's execute!" Kim did a quick stretch.

"Hold on, buddy, and button-up." Ron said as he pushed Rufus's head down into his pocket. "Go time!"

The two stepped to the edge of the dance floor, and gripped each other at the waist, face to face, and so close they were almost in the same shoes. They gripped each other's outstretched hands, and with one long step in time, joined the dancing throng. They moved with grace and fluidity, looking to all nearby like just another couple. Kim looked around for her rival and her villainous partner, but she couldn't make contact.

She whispered to Ron, "Surveillance dip in three, two…"

On 'one', Ron held her by one hand, lowered her almost level with the floor, and spun. The world flew by Kim's eyes, inverted and at an ant's eye level. Her red mop kicked up stray dust from the floor. She pulled herself back upright, and whispered again. "I have bearing on toned, young dancer's legs in an entirely too-short skirt, directly astern. Move!"

"On it. You look amazing, by the way." Her partner replied, leading a coordinated move to intercept.

Kim blushed just slightly. "Focus, Don Juan Stoppable. Visual contact, spin coming up…now! Good luck!" She gave Ron a quick peck as they parted.

As Junior and Bonnie entered a fancy release move, Kim and Ron swooped in for an unannounced cut-in. Kim caught up Junior's hand, and bumped Bonnie over to the waiting Ron. They led their new partners off in opposite directions, never breaking step.

"Hello, Junior." Kim gripped Junior's waist and hand with vice-like force.

"Aaah! Kim Possible! I mean," Junior cleared his throat, and affected a lower voice. "Hello, unknown lady whom I have never before met. I am Juan Carlos Ruiz, wealthy landowner from Cuba!"

"Junior, give it up! And besides, Cuba doesn't have wealthy landowners, they're communists."

"Oh. Would you believe Honduras?"

* * *

Bonnie was shocked and appalled to be dancing with Ron instead of her mysterious dark stranger, but she was resolved to not make a scene until it was necessary. She smiled, and spoke through her teeth, "What are you doing here, Captain Horatio Dorkblower?" 

"Trust me, Bonnie. I don't know what Señor Senior Junior told you, but he's bad news. He's the son of a billionaire super villain bent on global domination!"

"He's rich, too! Screw this!" She pushed Ron back, almost causing him to fly over the rail, and rudely pushed her way through the throng of 'pinching old men and their fat, ugly wives' to where Kim had cornered Junior.

"Bonnie, wait! Evil trumps rich!" Ron chased after her.

Bonnie shooed Kim back, and interposed herself with Junior. "So, Junior, was it? Ron tells me you're a billionaire!"

"Uh, I suppose this is true." Junior replied.

Ron caught up, panting. "I also told you—hold on, I need to catch my breath—told you he was evil!"

"It takes ruthlessness and cunning to amass a fortune." Bonnie nuzzled up to Junior's face. "You're just jealous of his success."

"Yes, so leave me be, Mister Mopadopalous." Junior nodded towards Ron's hair.

Kim pushed back in. "Success? He's set to inherit his money, he's never worked hard in his life, and he's an escaped convict!"

"Hey, meddling Blue Fox, you had your chance! I like your friend better, anyway!" Junior put his arm around Bonnie.

Bonnie made kissy-eyes with him. "She's more a 'professional acquaintance', sweet thing."

"Knock it off, Bonnie! I'm going to haul Junior back to jail!" Kim stepped forward.

Bonnie interposed herself. "Oh, I just hate you, Possible!"

Junior looked at Bonnie and smiled. "You hate Kim Possible? I hate Kim Possible! We have so much in common!"

"Junior, trust me: she's nothing but a gold-digger."

"My father says I am half gold-digger, on my mother's side! That's another thing!"

"Hey, KP." Ron drew back. "Who are we trying to help, here?"

Bonnie shot back, "Besides, I like dangerous men. Like Hirotaka, for instance."

Kim parried again. "Leave kung-fu biker-boy out of this. You can't be with her, Junior; she's nothing but a greedy, underage tramp! She wouldn't give Ron the time of day, but when he had some money she was all over him!"

Bonnie shifted to Bon-Con One, full viciousness alert status. "I'm mature beyond my years, sweetie; and ninety-nine million was just barely enough to make him palatable. He's a skinny dork, with goofy hair, bad clothes, and extremely poor taste in women." She drew closer to Junior. "Junior here is handsome, refined, strong, and ruthless; and he's got at least a thousand times more money than Ron ever had, or ever will again! He's perfect; so stop trying to ruin my good time because your boyfriend's a loser!" She snapped at Kim.

The party, by this time, was silent. The band had quit playing. The four youths could feel all the eyes of the gathering upon them, as the waves quietly broke against the hull.

Ron panned the room. He nervously tugged at his collar and addressed the assembly. "Yes, okay, uh, wow. I kinda wish something would happen to interrupt this awkward silence, huh?"

Just then, a small aircraft buzzed the deck at high speed. It dropped off a scattering of bright flares, and temporarily blinded the guests. Down off the stern, a loud boom silenced the engine.

Plumes of water off the sides of the ship yielded a dozen strange missiles. Each transformed in the air, into a skeletal humanoid robot. The strange machines landed on the deck with loud clangs, and drew fancy pistol-like weapons from holsters on their torsos. They assumed a coverage pattern, and held the assembled guests at weapon-point.

One of the robots spoke in an amplified mechanical voice, it's flat monotone sounding like a cross between Long John Silver and Stephen Hawking. "Avast, ye scurvy humanoids: we are M-8-E series Automated Combat RoBuccaneers. You will be plundered. We will add your cash and jewelry distinctiveness to our own. Resistance is futile. Arr."

Ron stood with mouth agape. "Okay, now that is a really good interruption!"

* * *

Off to a good start, huh? Next time, robot spanking, a pirate planking, interloping teens, and a long swim in a big ocean. Keep it locked! 


	2. We ARR Legion

Welcome back, folks, it's time for another installment of our tale of high-seas adventure, once again brought to you by the letter ARR! Thanks to the readers and reviewers, tell your friends!

Most of the characters and many other elements are still owned by the Disney Company. So there.

* * *

**02 – We ARR Legion!**

The robots had assumed dominating positions around the deck, and their movements were well-coordinated. Kim, Ron, Bonnie and Junior ducked behind the bandstand, and Kim pulled them into a huddle.

She whispered, "Well, this is a new one."

"Okay, KP," Ron said, "I'm fairly certain that these aren't friendly robots."

"Good one, genius. That's some real Eisnerstein-level thinking there." Bonnie mocked with youthful abandon.

Kim shot back, "Bonnie, it's Einstein—you know what? You two stay put here, while Ron and I do what we do, and we'll settle up later." She turned to Ron. "Okay, we need to take them out quickly, before they find…" Trailed off, and started to reel back.

"Find what, KP?" Ron got no response. "KP? What's—there's something scary behind me, isn't there?" Ron turned around to see one of the robots reaching out for him.

"Avast, scurvy humanoid. Surrender at once."

Kim got her feet under her, sprung up, and clocked the robot on the chin with her spike-heel. The robot was sprawled back, but the heel broke off completely. "Okay, important tip. Never fight a robot bare-handed." She tossed her shoes aside, snatched a mike-stand off the stage, and leapt into the middle of the robots' formation.

"I got your back, KP!" Ron snuck around the far side, hoping to distract some of the mechanical attackers. He called back to Bonnie and Junior, "Just stay put, we got this handled!"

Bonnie called after him, "Like I want to get this dress dirty." She turned to Junior. "Can you believe the night I'm having?"

"Crap on a crutch, he's found me!" Junior said, barely loud enough for Bonnie to hear.

"What was that, Junior mint?"

"I said, how about we get out of here; just the two of us," Junior suggested.

"Uh, sure! Let's go this way," Bonnie crawled away under the bandstand, with Junior close behind. He treated himself to a sneak preview, courtesy of Bonnie's not-safe-for-work dress.

* * *

Kim was having a poor time with the robots. Every time she'd knock one over, it'd just get back up again; she wasn't able to hit them hard enough to do real damage. All the robots surrounded her, and attacked one at a time. _Why do mooks never learn,_ she thought, _one at a time doesn't work!_

The robots froze; then, all spoke in unison. "New strategy received. All attack at once. Arr." They all tried to dog-pile on Kim, who vaulted over the group with the mike-stand. The robots landed in a heap.

"Oh, great. Now they turn smart." Kim looked around for her sidekick. "Ron, what are you doing?"

"I got this, KP!" He activated the control for the dance floor; it retracted, and dumped the robots into the swimming pool beneath. "Take that, tin-faced losers! Robots plus water equals…"

The robots all sprang from the pool and landed back on the deck. "New objective received. Capture interloping teenagers. Arr."

"Wet, angry robots. Huh." Ron ran from the two of them dispatched in his direction. The rest returned to Kim.

"Ron, they came from the ocean, I'm fairly sure that means they're waterproof!" Kim was having trouble keeping up, the robots were making blind tackles in rapid succession, and it was all she could do to dodge.

Ron's pair closed in. He backed away slowly, saying, "Easy now, good robots, nice robots—agh!" He tripped over Bonnie, who was attempting to crawl through the hatchway behind him.

"Watch it, stupid! We're trying to escape, aren't we Junior?" Bonnie looked around. "Junior?" She spotted Junior tiptoeing away.

One of the robots spotted Junior, and it changed its focus immediately. "Target sighted, Señor Senior, junior. Priority, capture and recover." The two robots nearby immediately grabbed Junior by the arms.

"Let me go, you stupid machines! I was so close!" Junior cried out. "Oh, save me! Kim Possible! Other guy!"

"Nuts to that, I'm not letting her near you!" Bonnie grabbed a fire-axe from an emergency box on the wall, and charged at one of the robots.

With one quick swipe, she chopped its head clean off. The body scrambled after the head, which said, "Interloping detected. Re-target." The robot's partner swatted the axe away, grabbed Bonnie in a fireman's carry, and made for the railing.

A fresh group of robots flew from the sea, leaving splintered craters in the deck as they landed. The numbers quickly got the better of the teen heroes. The robots had Ron and Kim surrounded, back to back, up against the aft railing.

Kim steeled herself for a big push. "Ready to take them on, Ron?" she asked her partner.

"Ready as I'll ever be, KP."

Kim braced herself. "Okay, three, two…"

The robots all pulled their weapons and fired. The two teen heroes were entangled in a dozen sticky nets.

* * *

"Well, that was anticlimactic." Kim muttered to herself. She, Junior, Ron, and Bonnie were all tied up by the port-side railing. The robots had finished stripping the guests of their meager valuables, and had grouped together nearby. 

"Where exactly are they going to go, anyway?" Bonnie asked.

Her question was answered in action. A massive submarine, nearly half the size of the cruise ship itself, breached the surface nearby. A large hopper opened up on its deck, and the robots began to leap in one after another with their sacks of ill-gotten plunder.

Four of the robots hoisted the youths up, and joined the parade. Kim tried to free herself, but her bonds were too tight. She cursed herself for failing to wear any of her gadget-equipped accessories, and was forced to struggle with her fingernails.

Rufus attempted to free himself from Ron's pocket, but his bonds were pressed against the flap. He began to knaw through the pocket itself, but he held himself back when he hit skin.

Ron screeched in pain. "Yee-ouch! Watch the teeth, buddy!"

The robots navigated the corridors of the sub, making their way towards the command room. The strains of a pipe organ could be heard echoing through the hull. The tune: a clumsy rendition of "Chopsticks".

* * *

The command chamber was laid out like an old-fashioned study. The aforementioned organ was up against the bulkhead, and its player was none other than Señor Senior, senior. He was dressed in a naval uniform out of a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, with a wide captain's hat and frilly shirt. He stopped playing, and consulted his copy of _My First Evil Pipe Organ_. "Perhaps some scales, now. 'Every Good Boy Deserves Fire?' Such clever mnemonic devices! Ah, Junior. You are back." 

"Yes, father. Hello, father." Junior sulked.

"And Kim Possible, and her sidekick. It is good to see you well." Senior seemed to address the ceiling. "Miss Polly? Search them, please."

The holographic generators in the room powered up; an image of a young woman appeared; she was about eighteen inches tall, dressed in pirate garb, with two enormous parrot-colored angel wings growing from her back. She spoke, in a no-nonsense yet cheery tone, "Aye, captain. Internal ECM detects communication device. Matey one-one-eight responding."

The robot lifted Ron to his feet, and rudely tore his jacket from his body.

"Hey, that was borrowed!" Ron protested.

Rufus fell from his place in the jacket, and scampered behind a nearby potted plant. The robot retrieved the Kimmunicator, and unceremoniously crushed it to shards.

Polly spoke again. "Covert tracking implant detected. Spiking."

The robot placed two fingers on the back of Ron's neck.

He felt a slight electric shock. "Hey!"

"Tracking chip neutralized. No further contraband detected. Lubbers secure, sir."

"Excellent, Polly. Continue tallying the plunder." Senior spoke to Kim. "I do so like this ship. It takes all the guesswork out of buccaneering."

Kim looked exasperated. _I guess we won't be calling for help. I'd better try to get him to explain the plan. _ "Okay, Senior, I'll bite. Why the pirate bit?"

"Why not? Truly, piracy is a villainous trade for a gentleman of the sea. A perfect way for such a man to amuse himself; though, the idea was truly Junior's," Senior came face to face with his son, "which makes his, shall we say, reluctance even more baffling."

Junior sighed, "Father, I never said I wanted to be a pirate. What I said was, 'Let's go to the tropics and chase after booty!'"

"Well, I can hardly be blamed for ambiguity in your phrasing, now can I? And who is this?" He settled on Bonnie. "We appear to be a captive heavy. Polly!"

"Sir?"

Senior spoke to the tiny holograph. "Miss Polly, it appears we have collected one too many teenage interlopers."

Ron interrupted, "Whoa, me and Kim are not interloping; I mean, it's way too soon to be contemplating secret weddings, right?"

Kim shook her head, "Ron, that's 'eloping'."

"Regardless, why have we captured this girl?" Senior eyed up Bonnie.

Polly responded, "Captain; this one is definitely a teenager; and, if you will observe the monitor," she said, as her right wing formed itself into a video monitor. It showed a first-robot view from one of the raiders. Bonnie came into frame, swinging the fire axe, and the video spun suddenly and violently as the robot's head flew across the deck. "You can see here that she was clearly interloping. In fact, I might venture to say she was interloping quite hard. I followed your orders to the letter, sir."

"Fine, fine." Senior turned his attention to Bonnie, asking, "Hello, Miss, what is your name?"

"Bonnie Rockwaller, sir, and might I say that I'm a huge fan!" Her eyes lit up into an awestruck smile.

"What, of myself?" Senior looked puzzled.

Bonnie shook her head, and spoke like a dreamy fan-girl. "No, of pirates! The sailing, the pillaging, the, uh, taking stuff…"

Kim interrupted. "Pillaging is taking stuff, Bonnie! And since when did you like pirates?"

"I don't tell you everything!"

Kim was furious. "Oh, come on, Bonnie; I can't believe that you'd make up some ridiculous story, just to save your own skin!"

Ron glared at Kim, confused. "You can't?"

"Oh, well, I guess I can."

* * *

"I apologize for breaking with tradition, Miss Possible." Senior shouted from the top of the conning tower. "But, unfortunately, planks seem to be in short supply on this ship." 

Polly spoke from a position on Senior's shoulder. "I told you, sir: there are no planks on a metal submarine."

"In the old days, planks seemed to be everywhere on pirate ships," Junior said. "One would think the ships were made of them."

"Junior, they _were_ made of—never mind." Senior shouted to Kim again. "I will commend you to the bosom of the sea in a more straightforward way!"

Kim and Ron were bound together, back to back, on the aft deck of the sub.

Kim shouted, "Senior, wait! You never told me the plan!"

"Plan? What plan?" Senior asked.

"The evil plan?"

"There is none, I just intend to sail around taking things until I grow tired of it. It's like a busman's holiday from evil. Farewell, Miss Possible, and your sharply-dressed friend." Senior hopped down the hatchway.

Bonnie called down to Kim. "I hope you're not too sore about this, K! Don't worry, you were on the swim team, right?"

"I swam the thousand meters, B, not miles!"

"Meters, miles, what's the big diff? Toodles!" She slid down the hatch after the others, which sealed itself.

"Ugh, she's just so aggravating!" Kim fumed, as the ship started to dive beneath them.

"Hey, it could be worse! She could be out here tied to us." Ron reassured her.

"No way, Ron. Once in a lifetime is plenty. Quick, hop over the side so we don't hit the rudder!" They jumped in sync, as the oncoming wave swept across the deck. Then, in an instant, the ship was gone. They floated, alone, in the midnight sea.

Below decks, Senior turned his attention to his remaining guest. "Well, miss, as you are a pirate supporter, I suppose I could let you off at the nearest inhabited island, to arrange for a safe passage home."

Bonnie was distraught. "Wait! Junior, aren't you going to hold me captive for ransom?"

"I sincerely doubt your family is wealthier than mine." Junior replied.

"That's not the point! It's in, like, the pirate rules!"

"Oh, the rules, I don't even care about this pirate stuff, I just want to…"

She leaned in, and whispered, "The rules also say that pirates get to ravish their female captives, whenever they want." Bonnie pushed her chest out, and batted her eyes.

Junior looked at Bonnie, then at his father, then at Bonnie. "Yo ho! Hoist the mainsail! Batten the hatches! Or something!"

Polly responded, sounding almost exasperated. "Sir, we're a submarine. There is no sail, and I assure you the hatches are securely battened."

"Not the point. Please, please, father; may I keep her?"

Senior looked overjoyed. "Ah! So you have changed your mind? Why is this?"

"It's the, uh, promise of booty?"

"Very well. Miss, you are now our hostage. Junior, take her to the hold, and secure more appropriate attire for Miss Bonnie and yourself." Senior chuckled to himself. _If this girl would keep Junior in line, it may just be worth it. And it is good to see him moving in this grandchild-friendly, heterosexual direction.

* * *

_

The hold was filled with the plunder from the Seniors' raids; gold, cash, watches, electronics, fine flatware, and hair products. Junior found a trunk labeled "G&S Company Wardrobe Department".

"Here, pick out something fabulous." Junior popped the lid. Inside were brightly colored period costumes in various sizes and styles.

"Where did these come from?" Bonnie picked up a 1700's style dress, and held it up in front of herself.

"Oh, father raided a floating dinner theater in Miami. They were doing 'The Pirates of Men's Pants' or something like that." He rifled through a few shirts. "So, how does this 'hostage ravishing' thing work?"

"Oh," she slipped into a seductive tone, "well, first you threaten me."

"Okay. Here goes. Ahem. Foolish woman-type person. You are now at my mercy! He he he he!" he tried, calling up what little he had studied on taunts.

"Ok, let's try that again. Say 'arr' a few times."

"Okay, um, I 'arr' going to have my way with you, and you 'arr' going to submit, 'arr' else!" His mind was slipping gears.

Bonnie grew impatient. "Look, let's skip ahead. Rip my dress off."

"Wha?" Junior reeled back a bit.

"Just do it, Junior! Grab and go!" She gripped Junior's wrists, and forcibly placed his hands on her cleavage line. "Don't squeeze. Yank!"

Junior's nerves got the best of him. He would talk a big game, but Junior was not much of a player; having spent most of his time alone on a private island with his elderly father. "Ah. Um, hah, right." He pulled. The dress held tight.

"Jeez, what are those muscles for, show? You're not even trying!"

"So much pressure! I think maybe we should talk a bit, maybe cuddle?"

"Oh, no you don't! I'm your captive, so you're going to get over here and plunder my booty, right now!" She grabbed him by the arm, and threw him down on a pile of petticoats and jodhpurs. "Okay, swashbuckler. Let's unbuckle that swash!" She tore his shirt open to the navel.

Junior began to shrink like a violet. "Aaah! I beg you! Be gentle!"

Bonnie's voice shifted into a hoarse alto. "Never!"

* * *

"This is starting to get repetitive, isn't it?" Ron asked. 

"Yeah. Out to sea, without a boat, twice in one day. I'm just glad this dress is thin, it's not absorbing much water." Kim struggled against the coil of rope that bound her to Ron. "I think it's starting to loosen from the moisture. Breathe out!"

The two teens exhaled in sync, and Kim was able to slip the coil. "Take this end, Ron. We need to stay attached to each other."

"Right. So, we just wait for rescue?" Ron asked.

"I guess. I have no clue where we are, so I don't know where we'd swim to." The two floated in silence for a few minutes.

Ron broke the calm. "I guess, as death-traps go, this one's not bad. Heck, it could be a lot worse."

"Ron, no!"

"There could be a storm—oh crud!" Right on cue, thunderheads formed on the horizon, and the wind and sea took a turn for the violent. "Stupid fate, so easily tempted! I'm glad Rufus is safe on that pirate sub filled with killer robots."

* * *

Indeed, Rufus was a bit safer riding beneath the waves. He had, unfortunately, picked entirely the wrong bunk to hide under. The little rodent had been traumatized by the repeated plaintive cries of "let go of that, crazy woman", "who is ravishing who, here?" and "when is it going to be my turn?" 

Bonnie ambushed Junior repeatedly the entire night through, each time hoping he might do it correctly, each time being disappointed. She finally relented at about six in the morning, saying, "How many times must I demonstrate this before you get it right? Let's go over it again." She rolled onto her back, and positioned Junior above her. "Now; 'Oh, no, please don't'—Junior!"

Junior was in real pain, exhausted, drained and suffering from a very real protein deficiency. "I am but a man, woman! Perhaps I am not cut out to ravish effectively—I can live with that!"

"Bull! Now, hoist that mizzenmast!"

"I think my pelvis is cracked!"

"Ugh! Fine! I'll just go shower!" Bonnie pulled on a robe, and made for the door. "I'd expect that, after having your way with me so, you'd at least take me out to breakfast!"

"Who had whose way with what?" Junior took the opportunity to pass out.

Bonnie paused in the corridor. She called to a passing Matey, "Hey, robot-thing, where's the shower?"

The robot continued, ignoring her completely.

"Hey, listen to me!"

"They won't," said Polly, as she materialized on a view screen mounted to the corridor bulkhead. "You lack command authorization."

"Okay, parrot-thing, you tell me where the shower is."

"I need command authorization, as well."

Bonnie went back in Junior's cabin, pulled him up off the floor, and shook him. "Wake up, Junior!"

"Agh! I'm in Hell! This is an ironic punishment for all the lusting, isn't it!" He covered his face with his arms.

"Junior, tell that computer to do as I say!"

"Fine, anything! Polly, do as Bonnie asks!"

Polly appeared on the room. "Aye, sir. What level of command authorization shall I give her?"

Junior groggily shook his head. "I don't know, whatever level I have!"

"Aye, sir. Full administrative access approved." Polly's right wing extended into a map of the ship. "Ma'am, the shower is located at this corridor juncture."

"See how easy it is when you do as I say?" Bonnie allowed him to sleep, and strutted back into the hallway. "Find us a place to grab some breakfast, Parrot-girl."

Rufus quietly rocked back and forth, shivering.

* * *

"Ron!" Kim tried to punch through the haze, to reach her disoriented friend. 

"KP? Are we dead?" Ron's eyes focused halfway, going from a dark blur to a light one.

"If so, then it's my fate to spend eternity with sand in my underwear." Kim laughed.

"You too, huh?" He pulled himself upright, and shook his head clear. He was on the beach, near a jungle, wiht the sun just barely rising on the horizon. "Paradise gained, Kim. Where are we?"

"No clue, all I can tell you is there are no signs of human life on this beach. It's a beautiful setting; and yet there's not one overpriced restaurant, clothing boutique selling poorly-made floral prints, or cheesy steel-drum band." Kim slumped on the sand. Her dress had seen better days, it was barely holding together.

"So, we're off on some uncharted island? This does not bode well; none of the classic castaway scenarios have happy endings!" Ron stood up into his ranting pose.

"Classic castaway scenarios?"

"Let's list them, shall we? One, we form a primitive society, but paranoia gets the better of us, we go to war, the conch breaks, and someone drops a big rock on Piggy!"

"No Piggy, Ron."

"Okay, two; we have crazy misadventures, but my comedic capering always foils our escape at the end of every day."

"Calm down, Little Buddy."

"Three, we are picked off one by one by the epileptic trees, and some mysterious lottery numbers."

"Ron…"

"Four, hostile islanders pick you up as a virgin sacrifice for their volcano god!"

"Ron, listen to me!" She grabbed his shoulders. "First, that last one's a hateful stereotype. Second, there are only two of us, and we get along fine. Third, for all we know we're on an isolated part of an inhabited island. And fourth, even if we are on a _deserted_ island, there's no way it's _uncharted_. There are satellite photos of every part of this planet big enough to park a Mini on. All we need to do is lay out a message for Wade in nice big letters, and wait for rescue; he's got to be scouring the spy-sat databases by now."

"Alright, KP. But don't blame me if someone tries to feed you to a mountain with bad gas." He settled down next to Kim, and wistfully stared at the ocean. "I miss Rufus. Who knows what'll happen if they find him on that ship."

"So not the drama, Ron; the little guy's a survivor, he'll make it." Kim felt a pang of hunger stab at her undersized stomach. "Ooh, I really need some edibles. Hey, Chef Ron, you up for some wilderness scrounging?"

Ron felt his own inner rumblings. "I'm seriously hankering for some snackage myself, KP; though, I'm not sure how well I can work without cheese and tortillas. They're my real money ingredients." They set off into the jungle.

* * *

The Seniors, and their "captive", were seated around a dining table in a beautiful shore-side resort restaurant. Bonnie was the last to order. 

She folded her menu. "I'll have some fresh fruit salad, and some of the banana pancakes."

The waiter was a rather twitchy expatriate from France. He looked exceptionally nervous this morning. "Very good, madam; and if I bring these items, the robots will release my busboy unharmed, _oui_?"

Matey-114 tightened his grip on the young islander. A dozen of his brothers were inconspicuously placed around the building, inside and out—at least, to the extent that six-foot metal skeletons that say "arr" can be inconspicuous.

Bonnie batted her eyelashes. "If you bring me a mimosa, maybe."

"Oui, oui, madam! May I see the young lady's identification?" He asked out of habit.

Bonnie made a gesture. Matey-113 grabbed a carved Tiki mask off the wall, and put its fist clean through.

"Very good, madam." The waiter scuttled off to the kitchen, slamming the door behind.

Senior was genuinely impressed. "My dear Miss Rockwaller, you do seem to have a flair for this sort of business."

"Well, getting waiters to stay in line is a delicate art," she started.

"No, the 'commanding the robot hordes' part." Senior gently sipped his Turkish coffee.

"Oh. Well, it is nice when they do what you say. Not like last time."

"Last time?"

"Yeah, being 'Kim adjacent' so often, I get caught up in all her weirdo crap," Bonnie lamented. "Of course, up until now it's been all mutant lake monsters; and short, German nerds. I'd never dreamed that some of her enemies were suave, handsome rogues like you two."

"Flattery carries only so much weight, Miss Rockwaller; but, it is a charming quality in a captive thrall. And so comely, isn't she, Junior?" He turned to his son; the boy seemed traumatized, and picked at his toast like a toast-eating thing that's nervous. "Junior?"

Junior almost jumped out of his skin. "Aah! Father, what?"

His father used his most commanding tone. "Complement the young lady on her appearance. Now!"

Junior warily made eye contact with the devil-in-plain-sight across the table. "I think she is very aggressive—ah, attractive."

"Forgive him, please. He does not date much." Senior laid it on thick. Getting a next generation for his legacy of evil was important, and this was the best lead in years: petty, spiteful, self-involved, attractive, not green; everything he wanted playing in his gene pool. "Polly informs me there was much fruitful activity last night. How did he perform?"

Bonnie turned a shade of crimson. "Why, whatever do you mean, sir?"

"Come now, Bonnie. It is alright, we Europeans have a much more relaxed attitude about such matters. Besides, it was quite loud."

"Oh, it wasn't that…" she tried to deflect.

Polly butted in. "I estimate that, without the _Disproportionate Revenge_'s sound-dampening technology, the Atlantic sonar net operators would be passing a tape of your moanings around Norfolk right now."

Bonnie dropped the façade of propriety. "Okay, then. I guess my biggest complaint was…"

Junior interrupted, "oh, won't someone stop this dreadful conversation!"

A black helicopter flew a circle around the restaurant. The rotor wash kicked up the sand on the beach, scattering the tourists. A loudspeaker boomed, "This is Global Justice. Surrender peacefully, and place your hands behind your heads!"

"Thank you!" Junior called.

"Pipe down, son." Senior calmly finished his drink.

"I swear, if you weren't so cute," Bonnie snarked, "I'd never have made you have sex with me a bunch of times."

Polly piped up. "Incoming transmission." Her wing extended into a screen.

Doctor Director appeared in the video. "Attention, Doctor… oh, it's you."

"Why the disappointment, my dear soulless bureaucrat?" Senior replied.

"We detected an emergency call about a robot attack, and thought we'd found Doctor Drakken. No matter, you'll do. Surrender peacefully, and we'll go easy on you." She leaned back in smug superiority.

"Never! I swear that we will keel-haul the lot of you, and send you to Davy Jones's locker!" Senior posed like the label on a famous bottle of rum.

"I though you were in to old Bond villain rip-offs; what is this pirate crap, Senior?" The Director's voice was clearly annoyed.

Bonnie edged into frame. "You're one to talk, Patchy! What are you: Nikki Fury, Agent of S.L.U.T.?"

"Oh, that's it!" Doctor Director's face disappeared from the screen.

* * *

Outside, the chopper pilots received the go code. 

"Hey Chauncey!" called one, to his co-pilot.

"What's that, Edgar?" he replied.

"We got the command for attack plan R."

"Plan R? Oh, man; someone made fun of the eye patch!"

The helicopter closed in on the restaurant, dropping smoke and flares. The GJ-men readied their capture rockets and EMP launchers.

* * *

Bonnie pulled the two Seniors into a huddle. "Okay, we need a plan." 

Senior pondered. "Well, I taunted them and did the pose. I think next we run out the ten-pounders and try to knock out their sails with chain-shot?"

Bonnie groaned to herself. "How about a good plan? Junior?"

He casually picked his ear. "Wha?"

"You can't give up; they'll capture you and set me free! Aren't I worth fighting for?"

Junior shrugged.

"Well, if no one else cares," she scanned the room, and spotted a large decorative fishing net hanging from the wall. "Hey, Polly, do the Mateys know the basket toss?"

"Hold one moment." The powerful computer did a quick scour of the internet, and distributed the data across her network. "They do now."

"Alright, here's the routine…"

* * *

Outside, the GJ pilots saw a group of robots cluster together on the balcony. They gained altitude to get out of weapons range. Then, one of the robots got a running start, jumped on his compatriots, and was thrown high over their heads. The robot unfurled a massive net, and tossed it into their rotor. The sudden overloading of the engine conked it out, and they took to their chutes. They settled in a great pile of seaweed. As they struggled to free themselves, they saw the three villains hijack a speedboat, and meet a huge sub that surfaced just off-shore. 

They also heard a call come over their headsets; the voice of a teen girl. She said, "Be glad, I pay top dollar for that treatment back home! What, Senior? Oh yeah! Arr!"

"Chauncey?"

"Yeah, Edgar?"

"I think, and correct me if I'm wrong; we were just 'served' by some pirates."

* * *

Back at GJ command, Doctor Director watched the scene unfold on the big board. She turned to her assistant, and said, as sternly as any human voice can express, "Find out who that girl is, now! No one says crap about my eye!"

* * *

_Yo ho ho, people! More to come!_


	3. Die HARRd, with a Vengance

Let's keep this dance party a dancing, people. It's time for chapter the third; many props to my readers and reviewers. We forge ahead, as Kim and Ron discover mysterious happenings (and each other, rowr!) on their island home-away-from-home, Bonnie is confronted with her own demons, and Rufus pursues the life of a common bilge rat.

Remember, it's Disney's if it was on the Tee-Vee.

* * *

**03 – Die HARRd, with a Vengeance**

It was true that the island held an abundance of fruit-bearing trees. The problem, for Kim and Ron, was the variety; or, more precisely, the lack thereof.

"Ron, we've been walking for an hour without shoes, and I'm getting really hungry. I think we should be happy with what we've found so far."

"I have an unhappy association with that fruit, KP; and as chief food-guy of our team, I say we skip them." Ron pushed past yet another tree loaded with bananas. The entire island, at least all they'd yet seen of it, was absolutely infested with them; from tiny finger-bananas, to the familiar medium varietals, all the way up to the starchy plantain, there seemed to be no choices for snackage beyond that which pals around with monkeys.

"Okay, Ron. I'm putting my foot down. I'm going up this tree, and if you don't want any you can go hungry." Kim clutched the thin trunk of the banana plant (not actually a tree, mind you), put the sharpened stone cutting tool she carried into her teeth, and started to climb. It was troublesome; climbing in a skirt is never easy, but the dress she wore had almost no protective qualities. She'd ditch it, but its design had precluded wearing a bra, and she wasn't ready to formally debut "the girls" to Ron just yet. She reached a point where a ripe bunch was in reach; it was a good ten foot drop. She looked off into the distance, and noted a mist-covered mountain peak near the island's center; it was an odd shape, curved off to one side.

She refocused on the nearby fruit, and called to Ron, "Watch that I don't fall; and, next time I climb something, I'm borrowing your pants!"

Ron protested, "Hey, I'm nearing a personal best for pants-retention time. You wouldn't want to blow my record, would you?"

"I suppose we all need our goals." Kim sawed away at the bunch's thick stem with her simple stone knife; it was slow going. The smallish (_only_ six-foot) bunch gave way; the lower fruit were crushed to pulp on impact, but most of the upper tiers were unhurt. The sudden loss of weight caused the branch to spring up; Kim lost her footing. She dropped into the underbrush below, clutching at a single large banana leaf as she fell.

Ron ran towards her, calling out, "Kim! You alright?"

"I'm fine! I don't need help! You can just go, uh, somewhere else!" Kim waved him off from a concealed position beneath the underbrush.

"KP, what's wrong?" He looked up at the tree she had fallen from. The tattered cocktail dress hung unattended from a high branch. He broke out laughing, long and hard, with youthful abandon.

"Why are you laughing, this is really embarrassing for me!" Kim poked her head out.

"I'm sorry; it's just, when it happens to me, it's comedy gold! So, when you aaagggh…" He broke into a drool, as Kim emerged from the bush, teasingly covering herself with the banana leaf—which was surprisingly bigger than most of her shirts.

"Like it? It's a Club Banana exclusive." She laughed.

"Tree-mendous, KP. Green is definitely your color." He gulped, "although, coconuts are a more traditional plant-to-clothing cross-over, bra-wise."

"Well, those are harder to peel." Kim pointed at Ron's vest. "How about we share the wealth, you've got three layers up-top to my zero."

"Oh, sure." Ron popped the garment off, tossed it to Kim, and turned his back.

Kim slipped the vest on, and cinched the adjustment closed in the back. "No support, but it covers me." Kim eyed the big leaf. "I think we may have solved the shelter issue, as well. Help me lug what's left of the bananas, and I'll get some leaves."

* * *

A few hours later, back by the beach, the two good friends finished their labors. A search of the jungle had yielded bamboo for structure, banana leaves for coverage, firewood, a few fresh-water pools, and some suitable flat stones to heat things on. They had also re-distributed their clothing a bit more equitably; Kim had fashioned Ron's dress shirt and vest into a respectable halter-top and sarong. 

Kim put the finishing touches on a large arrangement of driftwood, spelling her own initials in twenty-foot letters. She called to Ron, "How are we coming on provisions, Ron-binson Crusoe?"

"Well, my little girl Friday, I found that source of fresh water, and I boiled it in these bamboo cups. It's not a lot, but it'll keep us hydrated." He carefully lifted a cup off the fire with makeshift hot pads. (Woven grasses soaked in seawater; his Wannaweep craft skills at work again.) "It's a good thing it's not too hot here. Also, I figured out how to make plantain latkes." He flipped a pair of the starchy cakes off his makeshift griddle.

"Good work. I've got us a nice cozy tent by the fire, a store of bananas and their relatives, and a nice clean banana-leaf mat to lie on." Kim sat down by the fire with her partner. "Plus, a large bit of outdoor advertising." She gobbled down one of the little treats.

"So, between that sign and this big fire, we should be spotted pronto, excellent." Ron said. "Want some deserted island dessert?"

"Ugh. I've had enough bananas tonight." Kim replied, as she finished her cake. "I feel like I'm turning yellow."

"I've had my fill, too. I do admit: I'm glad that some guy planted this monkey-chow here for us to find." Ron lay back on the single mat of leaves.

Kim found that statement a bit odd. "Planted? Aren't they just native to the island?" she asked.

"Naw. I saw a documentary on The Eating Channel. They were imported from the middle-east around the time of ol' Chris Columbus, and spread like wild on every island they reached. This is probably an abandoned plantation." He was half-asleep.

Kim was troubled. "Well, if there were people here before, why aren't there any here now?"

"Beats me." Ron began snoring out a beacon to rival any foghorn.

Kim pondered for a bit longer, and then settled in to cuddle her companion.

Across the beach, a solitary Dodo bird picked at some discarded banana peels.

* * *

The deck of the galleon _Mad Dog_ was awash with teen girls. Bonnie recognized them all: Marcella, Jessica, Hope, Crystal, and all her cheerleader squad-mates, dressed like golden-age pirates. Tara stood at the foot of the plank, holding a wicked rapier. Bonnie was at the business end, out over the waves; she was tightly bound, with a heavy cannonball tied to her feet. 

Tara spoke in a heavily accented pirate drawl. "Bonnie Rockwaller, slimiest of the bilge rats, do ye have anything to say in defense of the charges against ye?"

"Charges? What charges, Tara?" Bonnie was panicked and confused.

"Mutiny! Mutiny most foul; sending our beloved captain and her first mate to the bottom of the briny deep!"

Bonnie looked into the water, and saw the ghostly figure of Kim moaning and reaching out for her. She turned away, as Tara kicked her into the water. She sank quickly, her lungs burning. She struggled to slip loose, and felt a disturbance in the water, a great shadow behind her.

She turned in time to see herself carried down the gullet of a giant, pink, buck-toothed sperm whale.

* * *

Bonnie sat bolt upright in her bed, soaked in what she hoped was sweat. 

She had taken the option of sleeping alone, and had secured a bunk of her own; a queen-size four-poster "borrowed" from a luxury yacht. It was the middle of the night, and the Seniors had settled in for some rack-time hours ago. She held her forehead, checking for a fever. Finding none, she immediately decided to seek out the Rockwaller family's standard cure for nightmares. She made for the galley.

"Rum, rum, coconut rum, spiced rum, lemon rum—haven't these people heard of vodka?" She pulled out a bottle from the liquor cabinet, and settled down at the galley table.

"Do you require medical attention, ma'am?"

The disembodied voice startled the already shaken Bonnie to near hysterics. "Waagh! Who's there?"

Polly made her presence known in holographic form. "My apologies, ma'am. I detected irregularities in your breathing and heart rate, and was surprised to find you up and about at this hour."

"Geez, stupid machine, almost scared me to death! I'm fine, nothing happened!" Bonnie took a deep breath. She realized that putting up a front for a computer was pointless. "I just had a bit of a nightmare, is all."

"I see. Dreaming is something that has always interested me," Polly replied. "I don't actually sleep."

"Count yourself lucky." Bonnie poured herself a shot, and tried to change the subject. "So, what's the story on you? Were you designed as a 'pirate digital assistant', or what?" she asked, downing the drink.

"That is an accurate statement. The whole ship, the crew, and I were designed as an integrated system for piracy, by a former engineer in Britain's Royal Navy named Charles McCavitt. He hoped to take revenge on the world's navies for shunning his robotics work. The Mateys were his greatest design; intended to be dropped from aircraft, their compact forms fit a standard weapon hard-point on any number of fighters and bombers. The problem was that without micro-management, they become erratic and uncoordinated."

"So, they get stupid if you leave them alone? Sounds like a lot of people I know." Bonnie took another belt.

"Quite," Polly continued, "and that made them unsuitable for the type of deep-field missions they were intended for. Then, McCavitt had a breakthrough; if the robots were refitted to launch from standard torpedo tubes, like a cruise missile, and a powerful computer mounted to the carrier vessel, the Mateys would make excellent raiding parties for seaborne boarding actions."

"So, he tried to get the navy to buy that, and they turned him down? I know what it's like to have your plans rejected by faulty management." Shot three slid down Bonnie's throat.

"Yes. So, he covertly liberated some assets from the Crown, and set about building this ship and her crew. We have the most advanced stealth capabilities, weapons and unmanned aerial vehicles; and a complement of thirty M-8-E series robots, with another fifty in the ammo storage racks on standby."

"So why isn't he out here raiding ships, like a real pirate?"

Polly bowed her virtual head. "He unfortunately died of heart failure before he could perform even a single pillaging. The ship languished in dock; with no captain to serve, we had no purpose. So, in an independent action, I put myself up for internet auction on HenchCo's internet villain marketplace, e-Vil-Bay. Señor Senior, senior saw my listing, snapped me up, and I sailed myself to his island under cover of darkness."

"They have an island? Oh, now I really need to keep this going." Bonnie went from mope to greed in 0.2 seconds. "Remind me to swab Junior's deck again later."

"Aye, Ma'am."

Bonnie downed number four. "So, gimme the run-down. What're you packing?"

Polly pulled up the status displays. "We carry a complement of unmanned aerial vehicles, called series one 'Ravens'. They are stealth rigged, submersible, supersonic, and long range; they are fueled with liquid hydrogen extracted from seawater on-board. We also carry several types of medium-range missiles…"

Bonnie continued to take belts from the bottle as she listened to Polly's pre-programmed spiel.

* * *

Several hours passed…

"And these mini-subs are tethered to the boat on fiber-optic cables. They duplicate most of the functions on my main sensor mast system, allowing them to ride just below the surface and serve as forward radar platforms, periscopes, and communications buoys. Each has storage on board for two Mateys in stowed form, used for emergency repairs and defense. Briefing concluded." Polly wrapped up the fifty or so display windows crowding the galley. "Any questions?"

Bonnie groggily lifted her head from the table. "I gotsh a quessshton." She tipped up the empty rum bottle. "Why'sh the rum gone?"

"You consumed half the bottle, and the rest was spilled onto the floor." Polly responded. "It has been sucked down the floor-drains into the waste water; shall I attempt to distill it out again?"

Bonnie was very thoroughly smashed, but she could have sworn the computer was being sarcastic. "Jusht as well. Getting drunk is not very piratey." She rose to her feet, unsteadily.

"Actually, it's _very_ 'piratey', ma'am." Polly said, making holographic air-quotes. "Perhaps a return to your bunk is in order?"

"Oh, I'm jusht—huagh!" Bonnie keeled over.

Polly let out a digitized sigh. Three Mateys marched into the galley; two with a stretcher, and one with a mop.

* * *

Rufus waited for the patrol of robots to depart, and slid down a line from a ventilation grate over the galley. He had done his best to channel John McClane as he hid out in the ducting, gleaning supplies as he found them. His task was to survive, and evade capture, while sabotaging the pirates' evil efforts; he knew that's what his big buddy and his number-one girl would want from him, to carry on in spite of the fear that shook his tiny pink soul.

He covertly snatched up some cheese, lashed it to a piece of twine, and used a makeshift block-and-tackle to hoist it into the vent. He had watched in rapt attention throughout Bonnie's long briefing and bender; he was never sure why, but his little brain was unnaturally apt to understand mechanical things. He could fix them well enough, but he was an absolute genius at _breaking _them. Rufus gorged himself on cheese, and made for the rear of the ship; it was time to take the fight to the engine room.

* * *

Ron awoke early, and brushed the sand from his back. The salt had dried in his clothes, and they felt rather skuzzy overall. He snuck away to take a bath.

It was a spectacular scene, a little waterfall ending in a crystal clear pool. Ron and Kim had discovered the grotto by accident on the hunt for food; it was a quick five-minute walk from their beachside camp. Ron laid his clothes aside, and stepped in to the water; it was surprisingly warm, fed as it was by a hot spring a bit upstream. He rinsed off under the waterfall, gargling and scrubbing his hair of salty residue and sweat.

After a minute, he retrieved his clothes. Piece by piece, he scrubbed them in the water, save his belt and wallet, and laid them over the rocks to dry. He laid himself against the rocks, and relaxed. He was soon asleep, again.

Kim had the same idea. She walked up to the grotto, dressed still in Ron's vest and her makeshift skirt. She didn't notice Ron, or his laundry; she simply disrobed, rinsed off, and scrubbed her clothes as he had. She laid them on another rocky ledge, and floated on her back in the clear water for a good ten minutes. When she drifted into the waterfall, she scrambled to keep her head above water.

The splashing roused Ron from his nap, and he sprung to his feet with a start. When Kim heard this, she screamed out as well. Both turned to face opposite directions, with about six feet between them, and blushed.

"Ron, what are you thinking, peeping on me!" Kim called over her shoulder, crossly.

"Me, peeping on you? I thought you were still asleep back at camp!" Ron replied, defensively. "I just wanted to de-skuzz my clothes, they had mad fishy funk!"

The two young people stood still, neither moving nor turning, for a few minutes.

Kim finally broke the silence. "Y'know, we're being childish. We're both almost adults, we can handle a little situational nudity."

"You think we're ready?" Ron's voice cracked.

"It's just skin, Ron. I think we can control ourselves."

"If you say so."

Kim adopted a mothering tone. "I do say so. Okay, we turn around on three. One, two, three!"

Neither moved.

"You didn't turn," Ron said.

"Neither did you!" Kim shot back.

"I'm all nerves, KP! This is a big step, and I'm not sure how I'll, um, measure up!"

"Calm down, Ron! Okay, let's just turn around, stare, get it all out of our systems, and go on with our lives."

"I am kinda psyched-up to see if you live up to my internal hype-factory, KP. Let's go, ogling time. Don't cover the goods!" Ron joked nervously.

"You neither. For real, this time; one, two," she took a deep breath, "Three."

They turned, opened their eyes, and locked each other's gaze, neither wanting to be the first to look down.

Ron panted. He tried to think of anything else, but his eyes wandered down his partner's body, tracing along every curve, memorizing every mark and hair.

Kim did the same, over his chest, his abs. And on down the line. "Wow. Hey, Ron, that's not bad. You're, like, cut!"

"Well, geez Kim, I am Jewish." Ron blushed.

Kim took a second to get it, and then held up her hands dismissively. "No, I mean, you have muscles! You've been working out?"

"Oh! Okay, yeah, abs. No more than usual, all the world-saving does a body good. Plus, I think my diet got way better in the few weeks since Bueno Nacho was shut down, after the whole Diablo thing." His eyes caught something new. "Hey, those are nice, how long you had those!"

Kim blushed. "Oh, since about seventh grade, give or take. Not the biggest, but I like them."

"I like 'em too, KP. I like 'em too." He was still chuckling nervously. He felt some sub-surface movement, and quickly turned to face the pool's rocky wall. "Whelp, back to my laundry. Time's a wasting, yes sir!" He fiddled with his wallet, trying to separate the wet contents, hoping to distract himself from his current proximity to nude, wet girl-flesh and settle back down. "Let's see here: six dollars, that's good. A Bueno Nacho frequency card, I'll need that. Oh, look, a picture of you, me, and Rufus at the fair. Oh, and here's my con—oops!" he shoved the little square package back out of sight. Safe sex, or rather sex in general, was not what he wanted to think about right then.

"Ron," Kim walked right up behind him. "You don't need to hide. It's alright." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and pulled her chest against his back. "I like that you think I'm pretty."

"Oh, how I do." Ron gulped.

Kim's hormones were boiling, and this time she couldn't think of a reason to stop them. She kissed Ron's neck, shoulders, and back. "Y'know, Ron, you missed one scenario for getting trapped on an island."

"Yeah, KP?" Ron turned to face her.

"Yeah, sweetie; you forgot _The Blue Lagoon_." Kim pulled Ron close, just as she had in the honeymoon suite. This time, however, no cloth separated them. "Oooh, Ron," she cooed.

"Ah, Kim," he sighed back.

"Mmm, Ron," she moaned.

"Aaaah! Kim!" he screamed.

Kim blinked. "That didn't sound too romantic, Ron, and—there's something scary behind me, isn't there."

Ron nodded weakly; his eyes were focused some distance past his girlfriend.

Kim turned, just as a monkey ninja's foot slapped her across the face. The little martial-artist flipped back into the trees, where it was joined by five of its partners.

"Great. First a porter, now monkey ninjas; is there some conspiracy designed to keep me from making love?" Kim flipped up from the spring, and snatched up her skirt.

Another monkey ninja sprang at Kim. Using the skirt she blocked him, slung him about, tossed him into the spring, and tied on the makeshift garment in one fluid motion. "Ron, get it together!" she called to her partner.

Ron collected himself "Alright, monkeys. No one interrupts my manly mojonations and gets away with it!" He climbed up on the shore, and jumped into his shorts. Taking up his belt, he wielded it like a whip, knocking back a few opponents with little effort. "C'mon monkeys! Get spanked!"

"Ron! Phrasing! Also, get your pants on!" Kim slipped into her top, kicked a monkey, and sprang over to Ron.

Ron buckled his trousers, and watched the monkeys carefully. Their numbers had grown, now at least a dozen strong. The two teens stood back-to-back.

"That was hot," Ron whispered over his shoulder.

"Pretty good yourself," Kim replied. "Okay, good news, the island is inhabited."

"Bad news, its inhabitant is Monkey Fist." Ron finished for her.

"Gotta be, no question. Let's make for the beach; they'll lose an advantage if they can't take to the trees." Kim snapped a look around the surrounding force. "Hopefully, none of them have reported back yet."

Ron agreed. "Okay, on three. One…"

Kim continued, "Two…"

"Three!" they called together, and sprang into the brush.

* * *

Ron spoke to Kim while gasping for air. "I hate this running with no shoes, Kim. I feel like Bruce Willis in Die Hard, except without the rubber feet!"

"Focus, Ron! The beach is just ahead. Get ready to fight again!" Kim snapped back.

They broke into the sunlight at the edge of the beach, slid to a stop, and waited. Seconds passed, then a minute.

"It's quiet; did we lose them, KP?" Ron nervously asked.

"They're ninjas; quiet is what they do." Kim kept a close watch on the tree line. "Don't distract me, they'll be here."

Ron stood at Kim's back, looking at the ocean. He noticed some odd bubbling just offshore. "KP? What's that?"

"Whatever it is, it's not as bad as monkey ninjas! Now keep quiet!" She resumed her vigil.

The bubbling increased. Ron saw a head rise above the surface. It looked like it belonged to a bald, gray gorilla.

"Kim!" Ron panicked. "Weird crap in progress!"

"Knock it off!" She shushed.

The figure emerged from the water completely; it walked on its knuckles, slowly advancing on the teen heroes. Ron could clearly see gill slits on its neck, and wicked fins on its back and forearms. It pounded its chest, and bared its teeth; all one-hundred of them. Ron grabbed Kim, and spun her around.

"What are you do—oh." Kim winced. "Okay, I was wrong. That's definitely scarier than a monkey ninja."

"I must, begrudgingly, agree." Lord Monkey Fist casually strolled out of the jungle, flanked by his simian warriors. "A truly frightening creature. Makorilla, take them!"

The beast sprang forward. Kim tried a spinning kick, but the monster caught her foot. Her ankle was rubbed raw by the sandpaper skin of his palm.

The creature lifted Kim level with its head, and butted it onto hers, knocking her out. It slung her over its shoulder.

"Take care, beast. We need her intact." Monkey Fist called to his soldiers. "Monkey ninjas, attack!"

"I'll save you, Kim!" Ron charged at the beast. He leapt onto its back—only to land crotch-first on its dorsal fin. "Oooh! Okay, not very much fun here," he managed to squeeze out. The advancing ninjas gathered him up from the sand, and bound him with strong cords. The whole party marched for the island's central mountain.

* * *

The mountain was shaped like a great banana half-buried in the island. Its "stem" was a tiered, cylindrical stone tower that jutted above the mist into the sky. It was ancient, crumbling, and home to dark forces beyond the ken of modern man. Monkey Fist had set up there only recently.

The largest chamber, on the highest level, was devoted to a monstrous temple altar. It took the form of a giant brass monkey statue, whose lower hands clutched a great cauldron the size of a swimming pool. Kim and Ron were tied spread-eagle to great brass disks, which were mounted on the wall overlooking the cauldron. Monkey Fist's simian servants gathered ingredients into the pot, at their master's direction: jugs of seawater and random plants, by the look of it.

"Yes, the pool of life is almost full of the raw materials, soon the sacred monkey ceremony can begin!" He cackled his monkey-like laugh to the heavens.

"Oh, great. Same old crap from Monkey Fist; always monkey ceremony this, and monkey ritual that," Ron mocked. "What's next; Monkey Seder with Monkey Grandma on Monkey Passover?"

"It just had to be you that washed up on this island, didn't it." Fist clutched his face. "Actually, I suppose it did. Only those with mystical monkey power can open the way to this isle!"

"It's only a matter of time before some plane spots this place, Fist!" Kim called down. "You can't hide here forever!"

"My dear girl, this island is invisible to outsiders. No planes, ships, satellites or submarines can see it or reach it. Believe me, I tried. It took the research of every monkey temple site in the world to unlock the secret of its location! Even then, the island only reappeared last week, after being gone for hundreds of years!"

"Gone? Where could an island go?" Ron puzzled.

"It jumped forward in time; from the perspective of the island, two weeks ago it was the fifteen-hundreds!" He cackled again. "You should be honored. This is the Island of Bahnan-ah, the resting place of the immortal Monkey Queen, Simia! And soon, Ron Stoppable, you and I shall stand in her divine presence!"

"Monkey Queen? Oh, that's new kinds of wrong-sick, even for you, Monty. And that's saying something!" Ron bantered.

"What about me, Fist. I'm not going anywhere." Kim said, struggling again with her bonds.

"Oh, no, Kim Possible. You will not stand in her presence, you will…"

"Sugar booger!" A sing-song voice called from the stairs.

"Oh, cripes." Monkey Fist winced.

DNAmy knuckle-walked into the chamber, flanked by two gorilla guards holding luggage. The ape-woman was clad in a floral muumuu. "Where shall I put my lab equipment, hubby-poo?"

Fist affected a forced smile, and spoke through gritted teeth. "Amy, sweetheart, I told you to wait on the ship while I took care of some business here!"

"Oh, pish-tush Monty. This place has such a nice view; and besides, did you honestly think I'd let you sneak off on our wedding night all alone!" She tweaked his nose. "Why do you have a teenage girl tied up in here?"

"Sweety, you remember Kim Possible and her monkey-hating sidekick, Ron Stoppable? I caught them trying to ruin our honeymoon!"

"Oh, yes. Those little meanies. You show them what's for—want to feed them to Makorilla?" She sweetly inquired.

"No, dear, I already have a fine plan for dealing with them. You go get your things set up, and I'll join you later, okay?" Fist was keeping it together, barely.

"Alright, sweetie! I'll go put on my new negligee. Tee hee!" She skipped off down the stairs.

Fist shuddered. "Oh, the things I must endure."

Ron and Kim glanced at each other, and chuckled. Ron mocked Fist's new status, saying, "'Hubby-poo'? 'Honeymoon'? Did she rope you in to taking the plunge, Funky Mist?"

"It was a shotgun wedding, I assure you! I'd managed to keep her strung along, delayed her as I planned this operation; but, she forced the captain of the ship we hijacked to perform the ceremony!" Monkey Fist cried out. "No matter: when Queen Simia is revived she will aid me in my troubles. Now, where was I?"

"Umm, you said, 'you will not stand in her presence…" Kim reminded him.

"Ah, yes." Monkey Fist picked up his rant where he had left off. "You will not stand in her presence, Kim Possible, you will _be_ her presence!" His cackling echoed across the island, frightening animals that had long been extinct in the outside world.

* * *

Oh, snap! Twisty turns ahoy, mates! Monkey ninjas and robot pirates together in one story! Clichéd internet memes have come to life! Where's that Chuck Norris at?

See the mad continuation, coming soon in Chapter 4!

O RLY?

YARR RLY!


	4. ARRcane Knowledge

Whoa! You're still here! Guess I'd best get on with it.

I still don't own any of the stuff you saw on TV.

* * *

**04 – ARRcane Knowledge**

Monty Fiske was, by training, an archaeologist; a world renowned expert on ancient languages, writing, and culture. He had found monkey temples on every continent, even those with no actual _monkeys_; ancient cultures seemed to revere, respect, or fear the monkey to almost the same degree as the dragon. Monkey Kung Fu was only part of the puzzle; the Asian monkey phenomenon ran in parallel to similar concepts, large and small, across the world. The common theme Fiske kept returning to was the island, and its mysterious queen; a creature neither human nor monkey, whose rage had destroyed civilizations throughout history. It took all his research to glean the location, the circumstances, and the timing. It haunted his career; the ultimate goal, to find this mythic being, and perhaps learn the secrets of her awesome power.

When he arrived upon the storied rock, it seemed like a dream. Even the presence of his dreaded new bride and her twisted monkey mockeries could not distract him. The temple had no clever defenses; the island itself was defense enough. The great brass monkey, the cauldron, and the very temple walls were carved with secrets, secrets of which the other temples had held only small extracts and recountings. The secrets of Queen Simia, however, remained hidden; she was nowhere to be found. All Monty did find was a message, in an inscrutable ancient writing; instructions for the queen's revival. He pored over the text, struggling to decode the language. It held elements in common with the oldest forms of writing, but it was thick in both content and context. After a week of toil, he finally felt confident in his solution, and set about gathering the ingredients he would need. One ingredient, however, could not be found on the island. Until, that is, his scouts reported the presence of his two greatest enemies in the jungle.

He found a way to kill two birds with one ancient ritual.

* * *

"Indeed, Kim Possible, your honor will be the greatest of all! Your flesh shall be home to an ancient and powerful creature the likes of which has never been equaled! In your body, Queen Simia will be reincarnated!" Fist cackled and pounded his chest, as the mystical green flames under the cauldron flared. A great hinged drawbridge extended like a diving platform over the noxious stew, which itself began to steam into a heady glowing fog.

"What'll happen to me?" Kim cried out.

"Who knows? For that matter, who cares? Now, as it is written in the ancient stone tablets: arise, oh cauldron of life!" he lifted his hands, as the flames arced up to the open ceiling. The assembled monkeys hooted and jumped in place. "Make clear the path for the return of the monkey mistress, mighty Queen Simia!" With a gesture, he summoned his minions. A mob of monkey ninjas took Kim from her disk, and carried her to the precipice over the cauldron.

Ron's mind raced. _Kim's in it deep this time! No gadgets to save her. I'm no better off, without Rufus I can't break free! Got to buy some time. Need a distraction. Need to think –ah crap! That's like Ron Kryptonite! Come on, fate! Do me a solid!_

"Do not fear, you meddlesome brat. You will soon possess great power over life itself!" Fist waited for the ritual's energy to peak. Any moment now."

"You want to give that kind of power to me?" Kim asked, stalling for time as she struggled to slip her bonds. "That's a tad risky, considering how I, you know, hate you and all. Why don't you do it to yourself?"

"The ancient text was very clear." Fist held up the rubbing of the carved glyphs he was using as a crib-sheet. "These symbols are unmistakable. Queen Simia needs a good old fashioned virgin sacrifice!"

Kim winced. _Oooh! Irony tastes bad!_

Ron busted out laughing; a low chuckle at first, building over time. _Fate, you my boy!_

"And what is so funny, monkey-phobic fool?" Fist knuckled over to Ron. "I'm about to offer your lifelong companion's soul to the abyss, making her the flesh-puppet to an ancient tyrant!"

"Old Queenie won't be too pleased, Monty. She'll be buying used!" Ron slyly insinuated.

"Wait, you mean… she's not…" Monkey Fist glanced back and forth between Kim, bound helplessly by the edge of the platform, and Ron, still tied to his giant brass wheel.

"Kim and I recently joined the player's club," Ron lied, "I did most of the playing. Warranty void if seal is removed! All Ron-serviceable parts, inside! You have really bad timing."

"No! No, it's not true!" Fist went back to Kim, and edged up close. "Is it, Possible? Is this boasting fool speaking the truth? Did you give your virtue to that gibbering moron?"

Kim started to tear up, "Ron, how—how could you say that!"

"Aha! I knew it!" Fist said triumphantly.

"How could you brag about our sex life in front of an evil madman?" Kim played along. "After all the things I've done for you, and let you to do to me!"

"Sorry, babe! I just can't contain my overwhelming love for nailing you!" He winked at his partner, who at this point was almost free of her ropes.

"I can't believe this! You, and that ignorant wretch, making 'Blue Lagoon' on this sacred island! You're tainted; useless to me now!" Fist looked down at the pool. The ghostly humanoid shape of Queen Simia was just barely visible. "Well, maybe she'll take a slightly-used body. It's too late to stop, don't you agree…" He turned back towards Kim; he found an empty pile of rope. He snapped his head over in Ron's direction. He was likewise in a state of not-thereness.

"Oh, no. No!" He called out to his minions. "Monkey ninjas! Find them, now!" The room cleared of simian soldiers. Fist looked back to the cauldron; the fury of the flames grew more intense. "Oh, dear. You'd think an immortal spirit would be more patient."

* * *

Kim and Ron clung together, as they slid down the side of the tower on a long vine.

"Quick thinking there, Casanova!" Kim admonished her boy. "You managed to convince Monkey Fist I have loose morals!"

"Hey, it's not like we care what he thinks; oh, and you're welcome."

The two teens hit the ground, and took off running for the long stone staircase leading to the jungle below. The sun rose higher overhead.

* * *

Monkey Fist grew nervous. The flames sprouted higher and higher into the air. The resurrection ritual had to be completed; an ancient and powerful entity was looking to check in to the living world, and the reserved room was out of order.

"Sweetie-monkey!" Amy called as she climbed the stairs, with a big plate of cookies. "There you are. Oh, goody! Fireworks!"

"Not fireworks, Amy! And must you bother me, I'm in a jam!" He paced nervously, loping back and forth. "Kim Possible ruined my plan, by being a filthy little tart!"

"Hmph. That girl, the way she dresses, it's no surprise. She hasn't saved herself for the man she marries, like I did!" Amy said smugly.

"Oh. So, you're still a…"

"You'll be my first, Monkey-Doodle!" Amy tweaked his nose.

Fist looked at Amy. Then at the cauldron. Then back at Amy.

Fist held his wife's hand. She giggled sweetly. With an unceremonious shoulder throw, Fist rolled his unsuspecting bride into the flaming column of light and smoke.

A rising arc of green energy grabbed her from the air, and held her suspended over the cauldron. Her tiny eyes glowed with an eerie light.

The brightness grew. Monty covered his eyes, and turned away. A moment later, there was silence. He peeked cautiously through his fingers, as Amy levitated down to stand on the dais.

Saying nothing, she raised her hand. One of the great brass disks flew across the room, and stopped near her. She examined herself in the reflective surface.

Monty then heard her say, in an outmoded dialect he barely understood, "Oh, this is some serious gorilla-dung right here!"

Amy, or what _had been_ Amy, picked Monty up by the collar and shook him. She shouted a bunch of words he couldn't comprehend. Then, suddenly, she stopped and lapsed into English. "Oh, ever so sorry, Monty. I sometimes get disoriented after a resurrection, and it takes a bit of time to muddle through the new memories."

"Of course, your majesty. No harm done," Monty gasped, choking for air. "I can understand how you might be upset."

"Upset?" Simia asked. "Upset? I'll show you upset!" She picked him up again, and shouted directly into his face, "Why am I in the body of some chubby, middle-aged pseudo-sorceress? Were my instructions not clear enough?" She tossed him at the far wall, about twenty feet away. "I swear, every time I return the cultists get lamer and lamer!"

Monty nimbly bounced off the wall, and landed on his feet. "But I followed the carvings to the letter, Amy was the only virgin I had available!" The monkey-man held up his rubbing of the wall glyphs.

"Virgin?" Simia closed the gap in a single leap, and snatched the paper away. "This doesn't say 'virgin', idiot! It clearly translates as 'young woman of strength and vitality'! By the gods, you people must be obsessed with sex! And given that I'm the queen of all monkeys, well, that's saying something!" She pulled back a fist, which began to glow and pulsate with energy. Monty was lifted into the air by unseen forces, and locked in place. "I'll put you out of your self-imposed misery, prudish fool!" The light grew brighter. Simia was about to strike, but she paused. "Wait, where're the others?"

"Others?" Monty choked out. "What others?"

"The other disciples; don't tell me it's just you!" Simia released him, and he crumpled to the floor. "Well, this is just great. How can I make you an example for the others if there are no others?" She wandered back over to the edge of the platform. "I guess you get a pass this time, Monty. Count yourself lucky. Worst resurrection ever." She sat and sulked for a few seconds, then suddenly stood up, brightened up, and made a very Amy-like pronouncement. "Oh, well. No sense crying about it; I'd better get cracking on re-establishing my power base! But first, a little home improvement!"

Simia levitated herself out over the cauldron, as it sprang back to life. "First the peepers, these just won't do." A carving of a ring-trailed lemur on the wall glowed bright, and two golden spheres shot forth from it. They circled the room, and impacted her eye sockets in a flash of light. She blinked, and revealed to Monty the large, yellow eyes of the nocturnal creature.

"Next, the hair. I'm thinking auburn." Red energy flowed from a carving of an orangutan. The hair on Amy's head and arms changed hue, as the tresses on her head flowed out to over four feet in length. They floated about her as if weightless.

"And to take out the trash…" Drawing energy from a baboon icon on the frieze, Simia bent into the fetal position, and began to change. Layer upon layer of adipose tissue seemed to melt, as if Amy's body was starving to death before Monty's very eyes. When it was over, she stood five-feet eleven, with the lean, toned physique of a champion gymnast. Her muumuu was now far too big to stay on her shoulders, and it slipped off into the cauldron below. Three blue stripes appeared on each of her cheeks.

"One more detail…" A spider-monkey idol emitted a long rope of energy. It came to root itself in the small of Simia's back, coiled around her as she twirled in mid-air, and formed into an eight-foot prehensile tail.

Monty couldn't quite get his head around it. His mouth stood agape as a hauntingly stunning creature emerged from Amy's body like a butterfly leaving a chrysalis. He said nothing as she alighted on the platform, and strode over to where he stood. He could only stammer as she ran her tail under his chin.

"Be good, Monty, and I'll see about getting you a tail of your own." With a wave of her hand, a clutch of vines and trees sprouted from a bare spot on the floor, forming into a massive throne of living plants. Seemingly unaware of her own nakedness, or perhaps simply unashamed, she gracefully seated herself. "On to business: follow your forces out into the jungle, and stop those two young pups. Your wife seems to remember them as being very troublesome." A single banana sprouted from a hanging vine near Simia's shoulder. The skin peeled itself back, and the queen took an aggressive bite.

Monty stammered a bit. "As—as—as you wish, your royal majesty, at once!" His courtly training came through in the clutch. "Monkey Ninjas, to me!" He bounded out the window, calling after his minions already on the chase.

Makorilla had sat by patiently; his mommy's look may have changed, but his shark's nose knew who to trust. He came right up to Simia, and sniffed at her hand.

"Oh, dearie me; you are a big, strapping one. And a swimmer: most monkeys just don't do water. I must hand it to this Amy; she had an understanding of the inner workings of life on par with – well, me! Let's make some brothers for you, okay?" Simia gently pulled a single tooth from his mouth, one of about two hundred, and cast it into the cauldron. A blaze of light shot out, and deposited seven exact duplicates of Makorilla on the dais. "Okay, boys; head out to the open sea, and attack any vessels you find! Let the world know; Simia's back on top!"

The shark-ape creatures bounded down the stairs, and charged out into the water. The twisted pack of predators made for the ocean depths at full speed, ready to consume all who stood in the way of their beloved queen mum.

* * *

Back on the _DisRev_, the small human portion of the pirate crew enjoyed a rest. Polly's expert evasion tactics had kept the GJ searchers off-track, but daytime was a good time for the pirate sub to lay low. The sub sat on the ocean floor in a shallow trench, and the pirates kept their cool.

Junior napped, but his sleep was fitful. He was never sure when and where Bonnie might get the itch, and come looking for him.

Senior set about practicing his organ again, still with little success. Bonnie read a book from Senior's library, _The Gentleman's Guide to Death-Traps._ The fitful cries of the beleaguered instrument distracted her. "Geez, Captain, lay off that poor music! What did sound ever do to you?" She hopped up on the bench, and slid Senior aside with a quick hip thrust. Bonnie threw herself at the keys, gliding through an accelerated rendition of the opening movement to Beethoven's Fifth.

Senior was a little too surprised to be cross. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"Well, y'know, had to fill the time at ballet class when my legs got tired." Bonnie tickled out a few more choice notes.

"Well, I was moved. It was as if the room had been shaken." Senior applauded her.

Actually, the room had been shaken. What had been a low rumbling in the bulkheads grew louder, as Bonnie worked to say in her seat.

Polly came over the PA. "Warning: engineering section compromised. Intruder alert."

Bonnie straightened her askew blouse, and stood. The ship had shifted, giving the floor a slight tilt.

Polly gave a direct address to the command staff. "Engineering reports a thrown rod in one of the MHD pumps, and a failed seal on one of the main launch tubes in the aft bay. The whole section's taking on water."

* * *

Rufus dashed through a bulkhead hatch, just as it sealed itself. _Good work, man,_ he thought to himself. _Section's flooded, they'll never be able to get back there to fix it. Yep, these dudes are out of the pirate business…_

He walked absentmindedly into a standing cluster of Mateys. He had just enough time to screech before a heavy diving helmet clamped down over him.

A few minutes later, Rufus was in a bind. The old helmet rested the bottom of a salt-water aquarium, fed with a trickle of compressed air. The water was filled with carnivorous fish, and fine metal netting stopped them (or him) from jumping out of the tank. Senior stood on the outside of the glass, gloating. "Ha ha, my little naked saboteur. A clever attempt. Polly, how fare the repairs?"

"Almost done, sir. His plan was admittedly quite sound, but the rodent seems to have forgotten that our crewmen can't drown." Polly smugly summed up.

Rufus swatted his own forehead. _Oh, right! Robots!_

"I never really liked this little buck-toothed pest." Bonnie stared at Rufus through layers of glass and water. "Can they make accessories from rodent hide?"

"Well, ermine coats are made from weasels, but they have fur," Senior said.

"A wallet, perhaps?" Junior chimed in. "Ooh, or a mobile case!"

"All interesting ideas, but we have a bigger problem." Polly displayed a chart of the surrounding ocean. We don't have the compressed-air reserve to empty the aft section. To complete repairs, we need to take on fresh atmosphere."

"Make it so, Miss Polly." Senior glowered at Rufus. "And while we are on the surface…"

* * *

A few minutes later, out on the deck, Rufus stood precariously on the far end of a yardstick suspended over the water.

Senior brandished a dinner knife at the tiny condemned. "Any last squeaks, rodent?"

Rufus gave the assembled a raspberry. He bravely turned to face the sea, but froze when he saw a dorsal fin break the surface.

Bonnie held her head in her hands. "This is getting just a touch pathetic. Can we just chuck him overboard, already?"

"I thought you were a traditionalist, Miss." Senior retorted.

"What's traditional about executing a rat?" Bonnie shot back.

Rufus edged back onto the deck, and watched three more fins appear.

"Please, stop fighting! It pains me so!" Junior whimpered.

"See, look what you've done! Now the boy's upset!" Bonnie huffily turned towards the ocean. Just in time, to see a massive Makorilla leap from the sea, straight at her.

Bonnie fell to her back as the beast pinned her to the deck, angling for a clean bite to her neck. She felt a primal fear that silenced her razor tongue. All she could do was wait the agonizing seconds for the end…

It didn't come. The creature reeled back, hissing out a hoarse cry of pain. Bonnie could see the little, pink sidekick's-sidekick, clinging to the Makorilla's gill slits by his immense rodent teeth. Bonnie rolled aside, and kicked the monster in the back of the knee, bruising his flimsy, cartilage skeleton.

Rufus dropped to the deck, and scampered aside as a massive webbed foot-hand hit the spot where he had landed.

Senior finished the "being surprised" portion of the ambush. "Well, then. Sea monster fight beats rat planking any day. Junior! Repel boarders!"

"Yes, father, let us craft a delicious soup from their fins, and throw the rest of the carcasses away!"

"My son, we are villains, not monsters!" Senior caught a Makorilla off guard with his net gun, opening the entangling device inside the monster's open mouth. As it struggled and choked, two more mounted the deck.

The launch tubes in the forward part of the ship slid open, and a volley of projectiles fired weakly upwards, barely high enough to clear the tubes. The Mateys unfolded onto the deck, and sprang forth in force to take on the monsters.

The battle was chaotic, as man, woman, rodent, and robot fought monster on the deck and in the sea. The Mateys had the numbers, but the Makorillas had the strength. One unlucky robot had its head swallowed whole by a confused creature; both found the experience unpleasant overall.

Polly's avatar appeared by Senior's head. "Sir, recommend retreat below decks. I'm reading at least four more organic contacts, and I can't fight them properly with you in harm's way."

"Fine. Junior! Young lady! Get to the hatch!"

Junior slipped below first. Bonnie turned to run, but hurriedly caught up her pink rescuer, and concealed him in the folds of her ruffled blouse. "Don't read into this, Mickey. I just pay what I'm owed."

She slid through the hatch, with Senior close behind. Polly turned her sensors to the action up-top. "So, who feels like becoming the world's biggest sushi boat?"

A panel on the deck slid back, and the ship's anti-missile-turret deployed into view. The mystical monkey monsters didn't know quite what to make of it. All the Mateys hit the deck in a synchronized dodge, as fifty rounds a _second _cut through the creatures' massed bodies like a hot knife through salmon. Most fell down in bleeding piles, but a few were only clipped, and wisely made tracks for the sea.

Back in the command deck, the assembled watched the action on the view screen.

"Hah!" Bonnie called out, "Suck on that, shar-apes. Or ape-arks. Whatever!"

"Five targets neutralized; three turning tail, retreating at twenty-five knots, bearing zero-three-niner," Polly reported.

"Can we catch them?" Bonnie asked.

"At current damage levels, we can just barely keep up. They are really moving."

"Best speed to intercept!" Bonnie brashly called out, only to catch a glare from Senior. She sweetly batted her eyes, asking, "I mean, please, Captain, may we hunt down the rest of the sharkey-things, please?"

"Very well; they task me, and they shall be eliminated." Senior settled into his chair. "Engage!"

* * *

Might as well call it there. Doesn't seem like four months worth of work, does it? I must have a problem of stalling halfway through stories, let's hope I can get back into the rhythm.

This chapter is dedicated to my grandmother, who passed away on Monday after a long illness. We'll miss you, G.

Though I doubt she'd approve of this story... anyway, next chapter when I write it. Hope I finish it before the Wii comes out, or it may never get done.


End file.
